To kill John Watson
by magirl0413
Summary: Sherlock jerked the door open, "Who are you and what do you want?" "Hi, me name's Finny and I'm here to kill John Watson do you happen to know where he is?"
1. Chapter 1

The day started out like any other; John practically falling out of bed after smelling something odd coming from downstairs. He staggered downstairs, "Sherlock," he slurred, tiredly.

"Ah John, good morning," Sherlock said, oddly cheery.

John only had to glance out the window to know the time, he was to tired to focus on the clock. "Sherlock it is the middle of the night, why aren't you in bed," he murmured and sniffed the air, screwing up his face in disgust, "Sherlock, what is that smell," He asked exasperated.

"I'm timing how long saliva is to-," John interrupted him before he felt he no longer wanted to eat breakfast, "Never mind Sherlock, why are you doing it at," he squinted at the clock, "Three thirty in the morning?"

"Because John it could not wait," Sherlock insisted and turned back to his experiment, ignoring John completely. John seeing Sherlock in one of his moods, he walked to the kitchen and fixed himself some tea. He sat down in his chair and grabbed the paper from yesterday. Sipping his tea as the sun came up he let Sherlock have his fun.

He jerked awake and saw that Sherlock was gone. He sighed and ran a sore hand over his face. Sherlock had probably gone to St. Bart's to torture Molly or whip a dead body, he'd be back soon enough. He glanced at the clock, ten thirty. "Thank god for weekends," he mumbled and got up to take a shower.

Sherlock stormed into the flat, "Stupid Anderson, I swear, he drains my mind faster than-," there was a knock at the door, he ignored it and swiped John's laptop, easily hacking into it. The knocking persisted and it was starting to get on Sherlock's nerves, "Mrs. Hudson, get the door," he shouted. There was no response. "John-," he called.

"Mrs. Hudson is away visiting her sister, Sherlock," John shouted from the bathroom.

"John get the door," Sherlock demanded.

"I'm in the bathroom Sherlock!"

"So get the door!"

"You get the bloody door, Sherlock," John yelled through the door.

Sherlock sighed in frustration and got up and stormed down the stairs. He thrust open the door, "Who are you and what do you want?" He growled.

The tall red headed man looked undaunted by Sherlock's tone. "Hello, Me name's Finny," The man said with a heavy Scottish brogue.

"So, what do you want?"

"I'm here to kill Doctor John Watson, do you happen to know where he is?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I would like to thank Sherlocked Girl on Fire and Belldere for being my first two reviews. Reviews keep this story going so click the button!**

There were only two times in Sherlock Holmes' life that he was left totally speechless. The first was at Uni the second will not be spoken of at the risk of your own life. Sherlock could now count this as the third time his mind froze for more than three seconds.

"So do you know where he is," "Finny" asked.

Sherlock's mind suddenly clicked into place, "There is no one named John Watson that lives here," he said.

Finny looked confused, "Ah I see…"

"Whose, at the door," a voice called from up the stairs.

Finny looked suspicious, "Who is that?"

"My flat mate," he answered.

"What's his name?"

Sherlock's mind suddenly decided it would stop working, again. He didn't understand why this always happened when John was concerned. It was just like that time at the pool, John standing with explosive's strapped to his chest. So this is why Sherlock blurted out the first name that came to his mind, "James Bond," he said calmly. As he said it he tried to think of where he had heard the name before and realized that John had spoken of the man often, though Sherlock hardly listened.

This time Finny froze, "James….. Bond," he said slowly as if processing.

"Yes," Sherlock said, too far to back down. He was quite annoyed then, when "Finny" suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he was doubled over with tears flowing down his cheeks.

"Yer Serious," he gasped between tears.

"Yes of course I would know my flat mate's name," Sherlock said, miffed.

Finny straightened and Sherlock could tell he was having a hard time trying not to burst out laughing again. "Of course lad of course," he choked. "Tell Mr….. Bond I said hi," He said and burst out laughing as he walked away.

Sherlock sniffed in annoyance and closed the door. Walking up the stairs, wondering what exactly this "Finny" thought was so funny. He burst into the room pausing to look at John while he made tea, "John who is James Bond?" He asked suddenly.

John nearly dropped the kettle and turned to Sherlock, "What?"

"Who is James Bond," Sherlock insisted.

"Uhhh he's a famous movie spy."

"Oh," Sherlock said, suddenly wishing he had listened to John more.

"Why?"

"No reason."

"Sherlock you never do anything for no reason, no matter how obscure," John said returning to make tea. "Who was at the door," John said deciding to drop the subject.

"No one," Sherlock answered as he picked up John's laptop and hacked into it in seconds.

John sighed and ignored this, "Who was at the door?"

"Just a man looking for someone."

"Who?"

"No one."

"Who was he looking for Sherlock," John insisted, turning on him.

Sherlock watched John as he poured the tea and two cups of sugar into his tea, thinking of a way to tell John without having him panic. He sat down across from Sherlock and looked straight back at him. "You," Sherlock mumbled.

John paused and calmly sipped his tea, "Me? Why?"

"He said he wanted to kill you," Sherlock mumbled hoping John had not heard him.

He had and choked on his tea, Sherlock watched in slight concern as John slowly calmed his breathing enough to answer, "K-Kill me?"

"Yes but when he asked who your name was I lied," Sherlock said calmly.

"Oh what did you tell him," John said as he took a calming sip of tea.

"I told him your name was James Bond," He mumbled behind John's laptop.

"Pffffftttt ahahahaha," John laughed and coughed as tea shot out his nose. Sherlock felt that even though it was at his expense, he was glad that John's tension and worry was abated, for now at least. "Sherlock, Oh god Sherlock you did not," he choked.

"I did," Sherlock said stiffly though a small tug at the corner of his lips.

"Sherlock, there is no way that guy believed you!"

"He left didn't he," Sherlock mumbled.

"Yes but don't you think he'll be back," John asked suddenly worried.

"Yes, perhaps, but don't worry John, I will have Mycroft up the security; besides he was a total amateur, he told me he came here to kill you. Come on John I wouldn't worry," Sherlock insisted.

"Yeah well your Sherlock bloody Holmes," John mumbled and stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a movie," John said simply.

"What movie?"

"James Bond."

**Hope you liked it review if you did!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I would like to thank all of my followers and especially my reviewers. Its you that keeps me going on this story. Slash begins in this chapter. If this offends then don't read or simply skip it. R and R**

"Mr. Finny, there has been a change of plans; I no longer want you to kill Dr. Watson. I want you to take him from his master. I want you to take the lap dog from Sherlock and I want him to watch. Make him watch helplessly as you take his precious pet from him," Jim said taking a sip from the blood red wine in a deep glass made of expensive crystal. Finny made a mock salute and turned to leave, "Oh and Mr. Finny there is no need to be gentile, but I don't want either of them dead, yet."

"Will do Jimmy boy," He said almost mockingly.

Jim's right eye twitched in annoyance and his eyes narrowed to a deadly glare, "Never call me that again."

Finny was walking away and as he turned to close the door he said, "Sure thing… Jimmy boy," he said and left whistling an Irish tune.

"I don't trust him Jim," Seb said walking up to Jim's desk.

James Moriarty snorted and took a long draught of his wine, "He's useful, and that's all I really care about. He is getting a bit annoying though. After I've destroyed Sherlock I want you to kill him…. slowly," He said casually.

Seb smiled viciously, "Can't wait."

**/?/**

"Well Sherlock, it must be serious for you to call me here specifically," Mycroft said in a board tone, when in truth he was very much interested in why his little brother had called him here.

"John has received a death threat," Sherlock said as if that was all that mattered.

"Really," Mycroft said mildly.

"Well, it wasn't really a death threat more like a statement."

"Oh, and what does that mean," Mycroft said, his interest peaked.

"A man named Finny came, knocked on our door and said he was here to kill John Watson," Sherlock stated.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him John didn't live here."

"And he bought that," Mycroft said incredulously.

"Yes," Sherlock growled not eager to go into the details of his ridiculous alias for John.

"Alright and what would you like me to do," Mycroft said in slight annoyance.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. The elder Holmes knew exactly why his little brother had asked him here he simply wanted to hear him say it. "I need your help," Sherlock ground out as if it was physically painful for him to say the words.

"Help with what?"

Sherlock growled, "With finding the man, Finny, that is trying to kill John. I've looked everywhere but he is in no known records, even my homeless network can't find anything on him," Sherlock snarled.

Mycroft pretended to contemplate his answer when he really already knew it. If Sherlock had come to him for help than he must be desperate. "Speaking of John, where is the good Doctor," Mycroft asked.

Sherlock took this as a yes, "You should know where he is if you did as I asked."

"I put my people on protection of John without his knowledge as you asked," he said almost mockingly, "There will be someone following or keeping an eye on John at all times."

"Following him? Are they professionals? John is not easily-," he was interrupted when his phone buzzed.

_On my way home. Someone is following me- JW_

Sherlock smirked at the text and felt a strange feeling of pride swell in him. John had been able to detect Mycroft's "professionals", this made him immensely happy. Humiliate Mycroft and prove Sherlock's point all at once.

He passed it to Mycroft who read it with a slight frown. He sighed and handed it back to his little brother, "They came so highly recommended," Mycroft mumbled.

Sherlock smirked heavily,

_Don't worry John, I will explain everything when you get to baker street- SH_

_K- JW_

"John means much to you doesn't he little brother?" The sudden personal question nearly caused Sherlock to drop the phone.

"John is vital to my cases Mycroft, you should-,"

"Do not try that with me little brother, I have known you for far too long."

"It is really none of your business Mycroft," he said the name with distain.

"It is if my little brother is beginning to fall in love," Mycroft said.

Sherlock froze and turned, slowly to face his brother, "Get out," he said almost inaudibly.

"I see, so that is how it is," Mycroft said simply.

"Get out, Mycroft," Sherlock roared.

Mycroft rose with a sigh and walked to the door just before he left he said these parting words of brotherly wisdom, "Sherlock, if you do not tell John soon, it might be too late to tell him anything. It is now or never," He closed the door softly with a click and immediately was on his phone calling Anthea.

**/?/**

'Love? John? Impossible' Sherlock thought furiously. 'I could not be in love with John! John is…. He's….. he's John! What the hell does Mycroft know anyway' Sherlock fumed trying to convince himself. Just then he heard the door open and John's soft footsteps up to their living room. Just before he could open the door, Sherlock thrust it open.

"Oh," John said in some surprise, "Sherlock….. Uh how was your day," John said as he hung up his coat.

"Tea thanks," Sherlock said and plopped down on the couch. John sighed and just began to make the tea. "So Sherlock, who was following me?" John asked as he handed him the tea.

"Mycroft has upped the protection on you as per my request," Sherlock mumbled.

John nearly dropped his own cup of tea. "You asked Mycroft for help?"

Sherlock looked quite miffed at the rather shocked tone in John's voice, "Yes I did," he mumbled.

"Why? What's wrong? Are you in trouble," John asked in genuine concern.

"No I'm not but you may be," Sherlock whispered barely audible.

"Oh, is this about that guy that came to the house and told you he was going to kill me?" Sherlock nodded in silence, "This guy has got you really bothered than?"

Suddenly Sherlock sprang forth from his seat and began pacing the room, "Yes he does and I don't understand why! I've received threats before! Why should this one bother me so much?" Sherlock cried in frustration.

"But Sherlock, the threat wasn't for you."

Sherlock froze and spun to face John slowly. He studied the man before him, strong muscles were hidden beneath the ghastly sweater. Sherlock had the sudden urge to walk over to John and promptly tear off John's sweater and shirt. He took a step back in shock at himself. What was he thinking? What were these annoying _feelings_ he suddenly had for his flat mate?

"Sherlock," John said stepping closer to him in concern. Sherlock's heart began to race and it became suddenly impossible to breath. He looked down at the lips that had suddenly spoken his name and wondered what it would be like to just bend down and-

Sherlock promptly spun on his heels and retreated into his room. With one swift movement he slammed the door closed and pounced onto his bed.

''What the hell was that?'' He asked himself furiously.

"_John means much to you doesn't he little brother?" _His brother's words bounced through his head and he shook it vigorously as if to clear it_. " my little brother is beginning to fall in love." _

"Shut up Mycroft!" He yelled to his empty room.

"Sherlock? Sherlock you ok mate," John's voice asked through the door. Sherlock ignored John's voice and focused on his feelings, but John would not leave him alone. He persisted on annoying him in his mind and outside it. In frustration with himself and his feelings he marched over to the door and wrenched it open. John was mid knock and stepped back in surprise. "Oh Sherlock I-," But he was interrupted when Sherlock picked him up by his shirt and crushed their lips together. John's entire mind froze as well as his body. He could not process any of this he couldn't. Just as soon as it had happened it was over. Sherlock withdrew and John fell to his knees. With a shocked look Sherlock , stepped back into his room where he promptly slammed the door and it locked with a click.

**I hoped you liked it please review. **


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update but I've been kind of busy lately. I hope you like this chapter Slash! **

John sat immobilized on the floor, totally frozen in shock. Slowly he stood up and mechanically made a cup of tea. With his cup he sat down and drank it slowly. He allowed what had just happened to sink in. "Oh, Shit!" he cried suddenly. "Sherlock kissed me! He just bloody kissed me! Oh my god!," He sprang from the couch and began pacing around the room aimlessly. "I didn't know he liked me like that. Could he like me like that? No," he stopped, "This has to be a dream," he nodded, "A dream that's right, and when I wake up Sherlock will go back to being the same old Sherlock," Something odd found itself in John's chest. He felt disappointed that it wasn't real, that it couldn't be real. Why the hell should he feel disappointed? "I don't like him like that do I? Do I?" He looked back at the closed door, "We have to talk."

?

Sherlock paced the room furiously in an uncharacteristic show of panic and emotion. He ran a furious hand through his curls nearly ripping them from his head in frustration. 'WhathaveIdoneWhathaveIdoneWh athaveIdone,' he screamed in his head in a rapid fire concession. God he didn't know what came over him to make him do it but he did. He kissed John Watson. A strange elated feeling consumed him as he repeated these words. Then his mind conjured a more cynical, evil thought that stopped Sherlock cold. 'Was it a mistake? What if John doesn't like you like that? You've never felt this way about another human being before. How will you take rejection? What if John leaves? What. Will. You. Do.' These thoughts scared Sherlock more than any threat to his life could or would. What if John hated him because of one kiss. What if…..?

"Sherlock," A knock at his door. At first Sherlock thought to ignore it but John sounded almost desperate, "Sherlock we need to talk."

Talk? Talk about what happened? About leaving him alone like everyone else does. 'This is why you don't let anyone in,' his mind hissed angrily to himself.

"Sherlock…. Please," John whispered from beyond the door.

With determination and doubt Sherlock marched over to the door and flung it open. John stared at him in surprise for a moment then gestured him to come into the living room and sit down on the couch.

"We need to talk."

Maybe if he pretended it didn't happen John would let it go, "About what?"

"I'm not letting this go Sherlock, you know exactly what."

Guess not, "Look John I don't know why or what came over me but… I…. Look I just don't know," Sherlock spat in frustration.

John sat down with a sigh and studied Sherlock for a moment, "Well, one normally professes…. Feelings by such contact as kissing…. So," John coughed lightly, "Do you have feelings….for…me?" To John's utter surprise and, yes delight, Sherlock turned pink and nodded ever so slightly. "I see," John said with effort to cover his joyous smile. He didn't understand why he felt so ecstatic about Sherlock having feelings for him.

Sherlock misunderstood John's silence as trepidation, "I understand if you want to leave," he said softly, nearly inaudible. John started, and then laughed heartily. Sherlock's head whipped around to face John in shock. John was laughing at him.

"I'm sorry Sherlock but you really can be an idiot sometimes," he said to Sherlock's hurt and shocked face. Sherlock tilted his head in confusion, looking like a lost puppy, "I don't understand…."

"Of course I would never want to leave you Sherlock," John suddenly grew serious and Sherlock focused totally on him, "Sherlock you said you liked me, right?" Sherlock nodded slowly, not seeing where this is going. "An you are wondering if I feel the same?" Again Sherlock nodded. "Well then," Suddenly John was leaning in towards Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise as John's lips met with his. John's kiss felt totally different than his did. It was not forced or confused. It was filled with passion and reassurance. Sherlock closed his eyes and melted into the unbelievable feeling of warmth the kiss gave him. Something akin to pure unadulterated joy blossomed in Sherlock's chest and he pressed further into the kiss.

They both pulled away with a simultaneous gasp. For a moment the two stared into each other's eyes. A pool of grey looking into a pool of green. Sherlock's face was suddenly clouded with doubt, "John I- I don't know if I can," He said softly.

It was John's turn to be confused, "Can what?"

Sherlock sprang up from the couch, "Have this kind of relationship! I-I don't know if- I don't think I could change," Sherlock nearly shouted.

John nodded in understanding and stood up, he took Sherlock's shoulders and forced the detective to look at him, "Sherlock you don't know if you can if you don't try. Would you be willing to try… for me?"

"I…," Sherlock began uncertainly, but thinking of the kiss, of the unadulterated joy of being so close to John, feeling his lips, "Yes. I'm willing to try," he answered with determination.

John kissed him again and pulled away, "Then so am I." John glanced at the clock, "God I'm beat, I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight," and John pecked him on the lips and walked gracefully to his room.

Sherlock stood frozen in the middle of their living room. Did what just happen, actually happen? Sherlock melted in utter relief, John didn't hate him or want to leave. John actually wanted to have an… emotional relationship with him. Sherlock paused, John had been in a relationship before but Sherlock had not. How does one act in a relationship? Sherlock thought of the one thing that had all the answers. The internet.

?

"He's doing what," Mycroft asked into his cell. "Yes….yes…. thank you," he said politely then hung up. He leaned forward closer to his desk in thought. His brother was currently looking up how to be in a relationship on the internet. Mycroft paused to allow this thought to sink in. WHAT THE HELL! Mycroft jumped up from his chair and paced his office. He stopped suddenly.

John.

John Watson.

It had to be the answer. There was no way his brother could be having a thing with anyone else. He didn't think Sherlock would actually follow his advice….. maybe the world was ending. Mycroft walked over to his desk and paged Anthea who appeared in the doorway within seconds.

"Sir?"

"I need you to cancel my twelve o'clock tomorrow," He said and without question Anthea left to follow his order.

He needed to visit his brother. Again.

**I hope you liked it, I had fun writing it! R and R!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's been so long since my last update but there's been a lot going on. Hope you like the chapter. Just to be warned this is kind of ooc for Sherlock**

The smell of chlorine and the heat made Sherlock want to be sick. There was barely any sound, only the light splash of water. Moriarty appeared before him, smiling manically. Sherlock suddenly felt a paralyzing fear consume him. "I told you, if you didn't back off, I would burn the heart out of you," he growled in a whispered. Sherlock's eyes narrowed when he felt the pit of his stomach drop through the floor. A shape to his right caught his eye. He glanced at it then again and slowly turned to face the floating object. It was a man about medium height with sandy blond hair. Sherlock's nostrils flared and his eyes widened until he could feel the chlorine sting them. He tried to move, tried to get to the edge but he was paralyzed, frozen in fear and another emotion deeply imbedded in him.

Panic.

The body slowly made its way to him until it finally reached the edge. As if mocking him it turned so it was facing up. John Watson stared up at him with cold, dead eyes.

Sherlock screamed.

?

John bolted upright at the sound. It was a cry of terror and pain that was almost inhuman. He sprinted out of his room and down the stairs, skipping steps two at a time. He slammed into the living room then into Sherlock's room. The detective was thrashing around in bed screaming bloody murder. John crossed the distance in two strides and took Sherlock by the shoulders. "Sherlock! Sherlock wake up love, it's only a dream," he said, shaking him.

Sherlock's gray eyes snapped open and for a moment it seemed as if he didn't recognize John, but then emotions that John had never seen before filled the detective's eyes. Relief, sadness, pain, confusion, all clouded his gray gaze as it worked to recognize John. "J-John," he said, almost as if he didn't believe it.

John nodded, to shocked to say anything. He had never, never, seen Sherlock so filled with genuine emotion, before. It scared the crap out of him. John recovered and ran a hand through Sherlock's damp curls, "Yeah, it's me. I'm here," he whispered. To John's utter amazement Sherlock wrapped his arms around the soldier and pulled him close. His head rested on John's shoulder as he breathed calming shuddering breaths.

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was doing. He was being so emotional so open and it actually hurt. But what he saw in the dream, terrified him to no end. Then John was here, he was actually here. Sherlock couldn't help it when his body moved on its own and he was suddenly crushing John in an embrace. He couldn't stop himself. He breathed in deeply, John smelled like John. He was here and not dead, floating in a pool.

John pet his head like a child but it was oddly soothing to Sherlock. Seeing that the detective was calming down John asked, "So do you want to tell me about it?" Sherlock shook his silently. "You sure?" Sherlock nodded. John sighed and Sherlock pulled slowly away to look at John.

"Please don't die," Sherlock whispered.

John's had whipped around to face him, "What?"

Sherlock shook his head as if clearing it and he coughed uncomfortably. "I… thanks for….. you know…. That," he said hesitantly.

John smiled and nodded, "Any time, Sherlock," he said softly, almost as if in adoration.

Sherlock coughed again and looked away from the love in John's eyes. He didn't know how he should feel. He was happy John was here, relived that John wasn't dead, and confused that he had the dream at all. He also felt something odd and… warm swelling in his chest. It was bright and he only felt this way when he was around John. Could he…..? Could he actually be falling in love with John? He frowned. He had felt this way once, with a girl. John was different though, Sherlock didn't feel like a freak around him. When he was with John he felt genuinely happy. Then an idea stormed into Sherlock's mind that made him do something he had almost never done before. He blushed.

John was waiting patiently on the bed for Sherlock to configure his thoughts when suddenly Sherlock turned a deep shade of crimson. "Sherlock you alright," he asked and put his hand on Sherlock forehead. If it was even possible, Sherlock turned an even darker shade of red. "Sherlock are you… blushing," John asked in shock.

"I am John and I don't like it. Make it stop," He commanded. John laughed and shook his head, "Sherlock I can't just make you stop blushing. But we can figure out why."

"John I know why I'm blushing," Sherlock said quietly.

"Oh," John cocked an eyebrow, "And why's that?"

"I- um…. It was just a thought I had," He said not really stating what he wanted too.

"What kind of thought?"

Sherlock shook his head, "It was nothing, I appreciate your assistance with my…. Dream," he said gabbing John's arm and ushering him out of his room, "So goodnight," he said and shut the door lightly. John stood dumbfounded staring at the door before he shook his head with a silent chuckle. He walked up to his room smiling the entire way, simply wondering what Sherlock's "idea" was.

Sherlock slid to the floor with a sigh and ran a frustrated hand through his curls. That accursed thought had made him blush. He had wanted John to sleep with him, in his bed.

"What the hell is wrong with me? This relationship thing has thrown me off," He said aloud. But somewhere deep in his mind he registered that he had formed very strong feelings for his flatmate.

?

"I'm sorry Mycroft but Sherlock's not here right now," John said without turning to face the older Holmes. Mycroft nearly started in surprise. Nearly.

"How did you know it was me John?" Mycroft said with genuine interest.

"I heard it by the way you walk and your particular brand of cologne, rather strong stuff you know," John said, "Cup?"

"No thank you John."

John shrugged and finished making his tea and sat down across from Mycroft, "So If you're not here to see Sherlock why are you here?"

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at his directness but he continued, "I am here to speak to you John. I understand that there has been a threat on your life."

John took a sip of his tea, he had nearly forgotten all of that since he and Sherlock had become…. An item. "Yeah?"

"I also understand that you have begun an…. Intimate relationship with my brother," John didn't bother to ask how he knew he simply nodded, "John I've come to pay you to leave Baker street and never contact my brother again," Mycroft said without a hint of emotion. John was utterly taken aback, "I'm willing to pay any-,"

"LIKE HELL I WILL!" John roared. Mycroft seemed surprised for a moment the regained his composure. "Why the HELL is it any of your bloody business anyway?!"

Mycroft sighed heavily, "He is my younger brother John and I will do anything to protect him from being hurt."

John seemed to dim a bit at that, but his anger was still there, "Mycroft, you must know I would never do anything to hurt or jeopardize your brother's life," he said, speaking the complete and utter truth.

Mycroft nodded, "Yes, however John, your life has been threatened and if you were to die while in an intimate relationship with my brother than… it could destroy him," Mycroft said with a hint of sadness. This sent John back on his heels, he had not even thought about that. He turned away in thought. What if he did end up dying? How would Sherlock react? If he shared the same feelings as John, it wouldn't be good. "And besides which," Mycroft continued, "If Sherlock becomes obviously over protective of you then that would be noticed by his many enemies. You could be used against him. Not only would you be put into unnecessary danger, but Sherlock's life could be at stake as well. "

John sat back and downed his tea, thinking deeply. Mechanically he got up and put his cup in the sink. Finally he came to a decision, "Mycroft I think we should let Sherlock decide."

"Let me decide what?" Sherlock said practically barging into the room. Mycroft seemed hesitant and unprepared for the sudden entrance of his brother. "Mycroft why are you here," Sherlock spat in disdain.

Mycroft sighed and prepared himself for the oncoming rage from his younger brother, "Sherlock, I was just talking to John about a problem," Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "What kind of problem?" Mycroft suddenly looked uncomfortable, "Your relationship with John," he said quietly.

Sherlock started for a moment then recovered quickly looking furious, "How dare you Mycroft! You think you can just barge into my home and try to tell me how to live my life? News flash Brother dear, that hasn't worked since I was ten," Sherlock seethed.

Mycroft stared stonily ahead, "Please give us a moment John."

John started to leave the room but was stopped when Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John's waist, seemingly without thinking about it. John stared in shock at Sherlock, he didn't think the sociopath was capable of such close and personal contact. This intimate gesture gave John hope that maybe they could both survive this relationship. The army doctor smiled softly and leaned, ever so slightly into his touch.

"John's not going anywhere," Sherlock insisted, his focus completely on his elder brother, not even noticing that he had tightened his grip on John or that John had drawn closer to him.

"Sherlock, I know these knew feelings are interesting but they can also be extremely dangerous for-"

"Shut up Mycroft! I'm not going to listen to you! I can do whatever I want! If I want to be in a personal, emotional relationship with John than you can't stop me, so goodbye Mycroft this discussion is over," with that Sherlock totally ignored his brother and he looked down at John, "I need your help with a new case. A dead body has been found on the edge of the Thames and those idiots down at Scotland Yard can't make a thing of it. Throat cut and fingernails gone, his right eye has been gauged out too," Sherlock stated and he promptly left, already out the door and hailing a cab.

John glanced awkwardly at Mycroft, "I have never seen him act this way about another human being before," the older Holmes said suddenly. John jumped and looked genuinely curious, "Frankly I am rather jealous Doctor John Watson," Mycroft stood and placed a gentle but firm hand on John's shoulder, "Take care of my brother," he said with an uncharacteristic show of emotion, thought slight it was.

John's eyes set with absolute determination, "Don't worry, I would die before I let Sherlock get hurt," he said without a hint of hesitation or trepedation.

Mycroft sighed and looked away, "That's what I was afraid of."

**I'm sooooooo sorry for such a long delay. I didn't mean to take such a long time writing this but I had a case of writer's block and that plus the recurrence of my every day, crazy life I haven't been able to update anything really. Hope you liked it, read and review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm so so soooooo sorry its taken me forever to update this! I'm really sorry! Hope you'll forgive me!**

It was almost entirely silent in the cab, until John could no longer bear the awkward quiet, "Thanks… for defending me…us," he mumbled his cheeks tinted pink lightly.

Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly as he was focused on his phone, his fingers moving a mile a minute. "Isn't it normal to defend someone important to you," he said without looking up from his phone.

"Well, yeah I guess," John mumbled.

"Then no need for thanks," The detective said with an air of finality.

Besides him, John was allowing the warmth of the knowledge that he was someone important to Sherlock, the normally cold hearted and closed off detective. He allowed a large, bright smile to form on his face. Sherlock had put his phone down and his hand lay down at his side. John, without thinking allowed his hand to slowly reach for the detective's. As soon as their hands made contact, Sherlock pulled his away quickly as if he had touched something that had burned him. John's face promptly burned under Sherlock's curious gaze.

"I-I," he stammered, and to save himself from looking like a fool any further he turned away towards the window in dejection. What had he been thinking? This was, 'touch me and I put a bullet in your head' Sherlock. His fists clenched in hurt rejection. Guess he didn't mean as much as he had hoped if he couldn't even hold hands with the detective. How was their already fragile and awkward relationship to get anywhere if they couldn't even do something as simple as holding hands? They had barely touched but Sherlock had acted as if he had burned his hand. He sighed and wondered how he was going to make this work.

Suddenly he felt cold fingers wrap around his hand. He looked down at the pale hand, then to its owner. The detective was facing away from John but he could just make out a hint of pink on Sherlock's neck, just below those dark curls. He smiled to himself and he tightened his hand around the paler one. It was returned, albeit hesitantly. He smiled to himself, maybe he meant more to the detective than he thought.

/?/

"Obviously, from the uniform, this guy was a part of some kind security, maybe a museum or something," Lestrade said smartly. The man was tall and young, only around thirty, with well cut hair and a tight physique, "But what I don't understand, is why his left eye and fingernails are missing."

Sherlock snorted, "Isn't it obvious, his eye was taken for some kind of retinal scan, most likely to get into a safe or a protected guarded area," the detective spouted impatiently, "And his fingernails were taken because-,"

"He was tortured," John finished. Everyone turned to him, "Probably for blue prints or codes."

"And how do you know that," Anderson snarled rudely.

John shrugged, "Soldier," he said simply, "I know all kinds of things and, "Sherlock could swear he saw a dark flash of anger in John's eyes, "All kinds of torture."

Lestrade gazed at the dead man with some pity, "Poor sod, sounds painful."

John's eyes darkened again and he flexed his left hand, "It is," he stated grimly.

Something twisted painfully in the pit of Sherlock's stomach. He realized with a start that it was rage. He was furious that anyone would dare to hurt his John. Past or present.

His John.

That was a new development. Sherlock tossed the words around in his mind. He found he quit liked the idea of someone being his and only his. The rage was suddenly replaced by a bursting feeling of happiness almost leaving him dizzy. These sudden fluxes in emotion were leaving him confused, but then again, John did that to him.

"Sherlock, you ok," the soldier's voice cut into his thoughts. He focused on John and frowned. His feelings had distracted him. John had distracted him. His feelings took a nose dive; he couldn't focus on cases if he was focused on John. This could be a problem. His cases were his life, but John had become an essential part of his existence as well. He could not live without either of them. His cases kept him grounded and whole. John kept him sane, guiding him from the darker side of his mind.

"So what do you think," Lestrade asked, cutting into his mind.

Sherlock blinked as he came back into reality, "Check the London bank for any missing personnel," he said shortly. He walked away briskly heading towards the cab, knowing John would follow.

"Are you alri-," Sherlock cut off his Soldier by slamming their faces together and kissing him hungrily. For some unknown reason he just need John, needed to taste him, feel the soldier's lips against his paler ones.

John was stiff with surprise at first but he soon relaxed into the kiss. His hands crept up and took Sherlock's face gently almost as if not to scare him, even though it had been Sherlock who had initiated the kiss. John pulled away first, "Are you ok love," he whispered, only a few inches from each other.

Sherlock stared into the two pools of green, "Yes, John, I am," he said and smiled, a genuinely happy smile.

The shorter man returned the smile with one of his own. He drew Sherlock's head down and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad Sherlock." He sat back and Sherlock did the same.

There was a moment of silence that was quickly broken by Sherlock, "It is customary for a… couple to go out on dates yes?" he asked almost hesitantly.

John looked at him curiously. "Yeah, usually."

"Tonight at eight. Angelo's," Sherlock demanded more than asked. John chuckled when he saw how adorable Sherlock was when he was nervous. "I'd love too." John said with a smile, when he saw the detective visibly relax.

Without looking back at him, Sherlock found the soldier's hand and gripped it. John stared at the contrast of the pale hand in his tan one. Life is good.

/?/

As soon as they reached Baker street Sherlock sprinted to his room and promptly shut himself away. John watched after him with mild curiosity. He shook his head with fondness and a small smile and fixed himself a cup of tea. He sat down with a satisfied sigh and took a sip. A date with Sherlock? John smiled into his tea with excitement. Even though he had no idea what to expect, it still gave him chills that Sherlock "no emotions" Holmes had asked him out on a date. His mind wondered to the first time he had dinner with the Detective. It had been stiff and dry, not to mention extremely awkward. John had felt it of course but Sherlock showed no sign of acknowledging tension in the air between the two flat mates.

John chuckled lightly now he was going to go on a date with the man who he had strong feelings for. Maybe even love.

Love?

John frowned, it could be very likely that he was beginning to fall for the stone cold Detective. This made John pause, he felt almost afraid. Though Sherlock had said he was unfeeling, John knew he was far from it, but he wonder just how strong his capacity for feelings were. Could Sherlock Holmes love?

John sighed, he did not know.

/?/

The subject of the Soldier's thoughts was, at that very moment, pacing in a blind panic. What was he going to do?

Dammit he was so green with things like emotions and… love?

Love John?

With the thought of the man's name memories of the soldier flooded him. John smiling, John laughing, John running alongside of Sherlock, John risking his very life for Sherlock. Sherlock sighed and flopped down onto his bed. With a groan he hid his face in his hands. It was very possible, no; probable that he was falling in love with John.

Love.

Sherlock sat up suddenly, reaching an epiphany. Perhaps love was the reason for the warm feeling in his chest every time he saw John smile or how he felt like he was on cloud nine when the Soldier laughed. He frowned, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. The whole, "relationship" thing. His mind went to his dream about the pool, his terror at seeing John dead in a pool. His mind wondered to the actual incident, how scared he felt when John walked out into the open. How afraid he was when he saw the bombs strapped to his person and the little red dots dancing across his chest.

Sherlock ran a frustrated hand through his curls, why did this have to be so confusing? On one hand he knew that he could not live without the happiness that John gave him. On the other hand, he could not deal with what could happen to the Soldier if he was used as a means to get to Sherlock. He sighed through his nose and got up. He glanced at the clock, Thirty minutes till his and John's date.

He couldn't help but smile in excitement. He went to his wardrobe and got out John's favorite purple button down shirt and pulled on a pair of black slacks, as added measure he grabbed a silver tie and threw it around his neck. He thrust open his door with more force than was probably necessary. He looked around and saw that John was nowhere to be found.

'Getting ready,' Sherlock assumed and he sat down to wait impatiently for his date.

/?/

"Ready Sherlock?" The Detective looked up from his computer and felt his stomach trying to jump out his mouth. John was dressed with a dark emerald green Button down shirt and a black tie and black slacks that hugged him deliciously.

Sherlock swallowed thickly, it was taking his entire self-control not to ravish the Soldier right then and there. He cleared his throat and nodded.

John seemed to be enjoying the look on Sherlock's face and smiled, "I'll call a cab."

Sherlock nodded and watched John leaving, his eyes, shamefully following him out the door and down the stairs.

**The big first date is next! Sorry it took me so long to write this but I was having some writer's block. **


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock's finger tapped in rapid succession while John looked around everywhere in the restaurant except at his date. When they had arrived at Angelo's, Angelo himself had set the two in a private corner of the restaurant. The jovial man had set a candle down in between them and John smiled in thanks. Angelo winked at Sherlock while he walked away, the consulting detective blushed ever so slightly but remained stoic as always. The two remained as awkward as two teenagers on their first date, and they might as well have been.

John coughed, blushing slightly, "So Sherlock…. The case with the guard….. who do you think…"

"Moriarty, obviously, he's simply trying to prove a point, even an idiot could see it," Sherlock said in an utterly bored tone. That, however, was only on the surface. Inside he was a mass of nerves and worry. 'Why does this have to be so awkward! Why do emotions have to be so difficult,' he shouted in his mind.

John took notice of the Detective's tone and looked down slightly forlorn. They had only been at the restaurant for ten minutes and he was already bored. 'Maybe I'm just too boring,' John thought and his heart sank. He was just a plain old army doctor, how could he compete with the genius.

Sherlock watched as John's expression fell and the soldier looked miserably away, lost in thought. Had he said something wrong? What could he do? He didn't want to upset John, especially not now. "Ummm…. What…. Uh… do you think about…." He looked around for a moment and he blurted out the first thing he saw, "Wigs!"

John looked taken aback, "What?"

"I… uh- said…. What do you think about…. Wigs?" Sherlock floundered hopelessly. He remained more composed than he did inwardly for below the surface he was shouting at himself for his stupidity. 'Wigs! Really!? Well done Sherlock! Really well done!' he seethed.

John's sad expression fled, leaving behind one of surprise and for a moment Sherlock thought he would get up and leave but then something amazing happened.

John burst out into laughter and Sherlock felt himself joining in, "Oh Sherlock what are we doing? We're acting like hormonal teenagers!" He said his voice peeling off into small chuckles.

"Well I'm certainly not accustomed to anything like dating so what's your excuse," Sherlock said in between chuckles.

John suddenly looked down, his face turning red, "W-Well…. It's just that…. Your Sherlock Holmes… and I'm just…. You know…. Me," he said hopelessly embarrassed that he was even admitting his fears.

Sherlock blinked in surprise, "I agreed to come here with you because you are you," he said seriously. He surprised John by taking his hand in his own pale one, "There is something about you John, something different, something special. I don't know what it is yet but if you let me… I intend to find out," As he was saying this, the detective had been gradually growing closer to the soldier, until he finished his speech and captured John's warm lips with his own. A spark of warmth surged through the detective and he filed it away in his ever growing space in his mind palace labeled John.

John's eyes widened in surprise at first before he leaned into the cool lips. Closing his eyes he opened his mouth ever so slightly to allow Sherlock's tongue to surge into his mouth. Sherlock's tongue explored the soldier's mouth with surprising enthusiasm and the detective had never felt so happy, so complete.

John hands came up and he gently cradled Sherlock's cool face in his warm palms. Sherlock smiled and pulled away, Leaning closer and gently placing his forehead on the blonde's.

John smiled, totally and utterly happy and Sherlock mirrored it with one of his own. In Sherlock's world, John's smile could light the darkest night. God how he loved this man.

Sherlock froze, his face morphed into an expression of surprise.

Love?

Had he… Just admitted to being in love with John? He gazed levelly at the man across from him. His deep blue eyes swimming with happiness and the soft light giving him an angelic glow, his smile was just as soft and held so much love that he had only seen in other people and never directed at him. But it was for him, and him alone. That thought gave Sherlock hope. He returned John's smile.

Yes, perhaps he was in love and he found that he didn't mind that as much as he thought he would.

/?/

"_Are you sure?"_ The voice seethed into the phone.

"Yup Lad's in love with Johnny Watson," Finny said, still eyeing the two through the window as they kissed. Sherlock pulled away and placed his forehead against the soldiers only confirming Finny's suspicions. He sat back with a satisfied smirk. "When can I move in?"

"_Soon, very soon," _the voice said.

Finny smiled in excitement, "Oh this'll be good."

/?/

"No Sherlock I'll pay, really," John insisted, but Sherlock just ignored him and continued to remove a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Angelo, who smiled, "No this one's on the house for my favorite couple," he smiled knowingly.

John smiled and blushed but it felt good and oh so right. Sherlock was smiling like a fool in love, which was nothing but the truth.

John watched with interest as Sherlock replaced the bill into his wallet, "Where did you get that money," he asked with mock suspicion.

Sherlock glanced up at him with an expression of amusement, "I might have swiped it from Mycroft the last time we saw him," he mumbled.

John laughed, "Sherlock you should know better," he said with mock scorn.

Sherlock laugh haughtily, "It's not like he's going to miss it." They looked at each other for a moment and both burst into laughter.

They gathered up their coats and left, thanking Angelo as they went. As soon as they stepped outside they were hit with a torrential downpour. "Good old London," John muttered pulling his coat further around him, shivering.

Sherlock laugh and stepped closer. He opened his trench coat and wrapped it around John, all the while hugging him closer. John flushed in pleasure and looked up at the detective, who kissed him gently on the nose. John smiled and snuggled closer to his detective, who squeezed him tighter.

Sherlock called a cab and reluctantly let John out of his coat, who was just as reluctant to leave. They both quickly clambered into the cab and for a moment they sat in silence. Until John felt a cool hand wrap around his. He looked down at it in surprise and realized they had done this before, only the roles had been reversed.

"Sherlock," the soldier asked, immediately gaining the detectives attention, "I… I feel like I'm forcing you to move to fast. I mean…. Just this morning you were hesitant to take my hand and now you're kissing me like you were in the restaurant. Which was great by the way," he added hastily. "I'm just saying, I don't want us to move to fast if you're not comfortable."

Sherlock was genuinely flattered by John's concern over his feelings. He kissed his soldier on the forehead, "John, you should know that if we were moving too fast, I would not hesitate to tell you," he said fondly.

John chuckled, "True, that is what I would expect from the world's only consulting detective," John looked down in thought. "It's just that…. You seemed so… hesitant just a few days ago," John paused, "Why the sudden change?"

Sherlock sighed; he had been pondering this question himself and he still had no answer, but he decided to try, for John. "It's you John. You make me do and say things that I never thought I would. Not to mention how you make me…. Feel. This," he gestured in between them with his free hand, "This is all new to me, but for once I'm actually doing what I _feel_ is right," he looked straight into John's eyes and smiled, "And it feels so right, like I was meant to be with you," suddenly he ran a hand through his hair and his eyes reflected uncertainty, "God I've never sounded so sentimental."

John laughed and Sherlock felt his heart flutter for the hundredth time. "I think it's perfect," the soldier said and he kissed Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock scoffed, "I'm being so sentimental! I sound like a school girl," He fumed.

John laughed, "God I love you." They both froze and John swallowed heavily. Shit, he'd said it! He'd actually said it! "Sherlock no I- I just," he stammered and looked away from the surprised face.

He felt a hand gently tug at his chin and bring it around to face the detective. To John's surprise his face was smiling. The detective pulled the soldier into a deep kiss and the soldier melted. All feelings of fear and anxiety fell away and he was totally absorbed into the kiss.

"I love you too John," Sherlock whispered when he pulled away.

They were both interrupted by a light cough from the cabbie, who was turned around looking at them with a knowing glint in his eyes. "221B baker street," he said and extended his palm.

John insisted on paying and gave the man the money. The two lovers bolted from the cab and into their shared flat. They ran up the stairs and both curled up together on the couch.

They sat there together, talking about random things, anything that came to mind. Eventually John yawned and his eyes drooped, "Well Sherlock, I had a great time and would love to do it again. Goodnight," he said and got up to retire to his room, but was stopped by a hand on his sleeve. He turned to face the owner of the hand. Sherlock refused to meet his eye and his cheeks were dusted a light pink. "Yes?" John said with some amusement.

"I-I was wondering… if you…. Would…" he trailed off into mumbles.

John leaned closer, "What?"

"I was wondering if you would sleep with me!?" He blurted suddenly, taking John totally aback. He looked angry at himself as he stumbled on, "O-Only if you wanted too," He mumbled.

John watched Sherlock mumble and fiddle with his hands nervously and thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. "I would love too, love. But are you sure I thought-?"

"I-I don't want to.. you know….do that… But I was just thinking you could… just sleep with me…. Maybe even share…. Share a room," He stumbled, "It would be wise economically, just to have to pay for one room instead of two. And I thought it would be ok since… you know… we're… together," he asked blushing more furiously, like he was asking his parents to go out for the first time.

John was surprised, but delightfully so, "Are you sure Sherlock? I mean… I would love too but I thought you weren't ready for something like this yet?"

"I wasn't before but… I feel so sure of it now," he said more to himself than to John.

The soldier smiled brightly, "Well if you're alright with it than I'm fine with it too," he said and kissed Sherlock in his tousle of curls.

Sherlock smiled up at John. It was a smile of pure happiness and bliss. It took John's breath away. "I'll tell Mrs. Hudson that we'll only be needing one room tomorrow," John said and he turned to leave when he was stopped again, "I thought you said…."

"I am Sherlock, I just need to get a pillow and get changed, I'll be right back," he smiled brightly and left.

Sherlock changed quickly and went back into the sitting room. He sat in silence hardly recognizing himself. Just a few days ago he never would have contemplated sharing his bed with anyone, but then again John did that to him. He had turned Sherlock's world on its head and the detective did not regret a minute of it.

John returned moments later to Sherlock with a smile and they both went into Sherlock's room. John threw his pillow onto the bed and lay down and Sherlock joined him.

John almost expected it to feel awkward but he was pleasantly surprised at how right it felt. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and draw him closer. He curled into the detective, snuggling into his neck and sighed.

The detective held his soldier closer and smiled, he was so happy. He never thought he could change so quickly but then again…..

John did that to him.

**Well that's it! I hope you liked it as much as I did and if so, do not be afraid to tell me. Read and Review! The next few chapters are going to be one shots detailing John and Sherlock's relationship as it progresses. Don't worry though Finny will be reentering the story soon. **


	8. Sunflowers

**Like I said in the previous chapter I'm going to do a series of one shots detailing Sherlock and John's relationship as it progresses. **

**Oh and I don't own Sherlock, just the story.**

**Sunflowers**

When Sherlock opened his eyes it was to the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

His soldier laid sleeping, their faces just inches apart. John's face was relaxed, all of the lines of worry and anxiety that normally adorned his face were melted away. He mumbled something gently and curled closer to the detective. Sherlock smiled fondly and clutched him tighter.

Sunlight poured into the room through the curtains but only on John's side of the bed. The light fell on the soldier, giving him and soft angelic glow. The sun light up his sandy blond hair and it shown in the soft and slight darkness of the room.

Sherlock was suddenly reminded of the sunflowers his mother grew in her garden. They were planted on the very edge furthest from the house. Sherlock would often go there when he needed to be alone or time to think. He remembered one particular stormy day, that the clouds were so thick and dark it almost seemed like the darkness of night. He remembered going to his special place and seeing the sunflowers shining gold in the dark. They lit up the dark sky as they stood tall and proud, daring the storm to swallow them with the dark, though it never could.

Now as Sherlock stared at John; at the golden light in his life, he knew John was his sunflower.

Strong, tall and proud.

Golden, the soldier lit up every part in Sherlock's life.

**Well I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you like it. Read and Review. **


	9. Tea

**I don't think I've said it in a while but I just want to thank all my reviewers. It's you guys that keep me going. **

**Tea**

The cup made a light sound as it was slammed down with more force than necessary in front of John. The soldier glanced at it for a moment and looked up at the one who had just put it there. Sherlock was staring at him with a mixture of nervous expectancy. John raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the murky brown water.

"Tea?"

"Obviously John," Sherlock scolded and continued to wait expectantly, fidgeting with the tea towel.

John picked up the mug and studied it more closely, "This doesn't have anything…. bad in it, right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course not John. It's just that… Well I read that it's… normal for people in a relationship to do things for each other, such as make tea and since you always make the tea, I thought I would give it a try." He was almost able to hide how nervous he was.

Almost.

John smiled at Sherlock and turned back to the cup of brown water. The poor tea bag was drowning in the water, soppily staring back up at him. He gulped slightly and brought the tea to his lips and took one light sip.

He nearly spit it out.

It was cold and sour, with a bitter aftertaste that lingered nastily. He still held the nasty brown mix in his mouth when he looked up at Sherlock. His boyfriend was looking at him with so much expectance and hope that John didn't have the heart. Instead he swallowed the nasty stuff and smiled widely at the detective.

"It was great Sherlock," he drew the detective down and kissed his nose.

Sherlock pulled away looking surprised, "Really?!" He sounded like a child that had been told Christmas would be coming early.

John smiled wider, "Yup."

"Great! I wasn't sure about it at first but I thought that after I added the milk…,"and he continued rambling, while John just nodded and smiled fondly. As soon as Sherlock turned to do something at the sink, John dove for the plant and dumped half of the mug's contents into the pot, only feeling slightly sorry for the plant.

'Better you than me mate,' he thought.

The plant seemed less forgiving as the tea sank into the soil, turning it into a brown swamp. John grimaced at the poor plant.

'I'll get Mrs. Hudson another one,' he thought apologetically.

Just as Sherlock was turning, he returned to his seat the cup at his lips. He pretend swallowed and set the cup down.

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find that the tea was almost gone, "Oh, Here have more," he said excitedly. He took the pot and poured more into the poor mug.

John was just barely able to hold in his tears as he took another swig, just able to swallow.

Ah, the things we do for love.


	10. Names

**This is just fluffy. Soooo fluffy! **

**Names**

_Knock! Knock!_

"John! Get the door!"

The Soldier huffed and walked stiffly down to the door. He threw it open, "Hello what can I do for you," he said politely.

The man on the other side of the door was a tall fidgety young man, despite the fact he was already balding.

"Are-Are you Sherlock Holmes?" He cried, "Oh please help me please!" The gangly man shot to him before John could answer to the first question.

"N-No I'm not Sherlock Holmes," John said quickly.

The man seemed to draw back in disgust, his face contorting into a scowl, "Ah I see, are you his butler? You certainly don't look like any butler I've ever seen," he said snidely.

John bristled but before he could enumerate an angry response he felt a cold, calming hand wrap around his shoulder, "No actually he's my boyfriend," Sherlock said drawing John close.

John was smiling smugly at the man but inside he was a flutter with warmth at Sherlock. Sherlock! Calling him his boyfriend.

The young man nodded seeming almost disgusted, "Ah…. I see," he said eyeing John with distaste. Finally he settled on simply ignoring the shorter man, "Mr. Holmes, I am in dire need of your assistance," he cried pathetically and practically pushed his way into their home. The young man stomped his way up the stairs and flung the door with a dramatic huff.

John and Sherlock both followed the mystery man reluctantly. As soon as they entered the flat John began to make tea, "Would you like some tea?" He asked with stiff politeness.

The man simply ignored him and turned to Sherlock, "Please Mr. Holmes you have to help me! My name Nicolas Batch, you have to help me!"

"My boyfriend asked you a question," he said angrily.

The man glanced at John, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, "No," he said spat.

The detective and soldier both stiffened at the man's disrespectful tone, John taking it with more grace than Sherlock. "What do you want? No, Shut up don't tell me," the man bristled at being told to shut up, "You are obviously a man of wealth, probably from lineage. So most likely your problem would be blackmail. And from the way you are visibly balding and lines are becoming more pronounced on your face despite the fact you are obviously young. This blackmailer must have been causing you much trouble for a while before you decided to come to me. You're obviously a spoiled brat," Sherlock spat. "I don't want your case."

The man stood up indignantly and squawked, "How dare you!" He screeched, his face turning red.

John turned to Sherlock, holding his tea, "Now Sherlock, at least consider-," But Batch cut him off, "Who the HELL are you?!" He spat at John. For a moment both were stunned into to total silence, the man used this time to finish his rant, "You are obviously a man of low birth! Low class! Obviously not special! Not important! Not-," But before he could even finish he was stumbling back, clutching his now broken nose.

Sherlock was the very picture of fury, as he waved his hand around to get feeling to return. He picked up Batch by the scruff of his collar and practically threw him out of the room. "Get out! And if you ever come back, I will have you arrested!" He seethed.

Batch scrambled away, clutching his broken nose. He sprinted out the door and down the street without another word. Sherlock returned to the room, his fists clenched and his face red. "Don't listen to that idiot John. He obviously had no idea what he was talking about… John?" The man in question was sitting on the settee, clutching his mug tightly, staring off into space. Sherlock stepped closer as if approaching a wounded animal, "John?" He said carefully.

The soldier remained totally unaware of Sherlock, so the Detective took his shoulder and shook it lightly, "John are you alright," he asked softly.

The soldier snapped to attention and turned to face Sherlock, who drew back in shock. His eyes were filled with such sadness, it almost made Sherlock physically ill. "J-John? Please, are you alright?"

"Hmm, oh, yeah Sherlock I'm fine," he said, and without looking at Sherlock stood up and put his tea in the sink. He began to mechanically wash it when a pale hand stopped him. He did not look up at his boyfriend, "Yes?"

"John… you are not alright," he stated.

John sighed and dropped the cup into the sink, "No, I suppose not."

Sherlock spun John to face him, "Tell me," he commanded. John paused, seeing to hesitate and refusing to look at him. Sherlock cupped his chin; a very uncommon gesture of intimacy, and forced him to look the detective in the face, "Please."

"He was right! Okay! He was right!" John cried miserably. "About everything," his voice rose and he threw his hands into the air. "I'm not special! I'm not important!"

Sherlock was stunned for a moment, but only a moment, "John you are special. You are important," he insisted running one hand down John's neck, the other cupping his cheek. John shrugged him away and stormed into the living room.

"No! No, Sherlock I'm not! Not compared to you," he whispered.

Sherlock followed him silently into the living room and stood a comfortable distance away.

"Even your name is special!" He collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

Sherlock walked slowly over to him and sat down gingerly next to him, he gently laid his hand gently onto John's shoulder. John seemed to lean into his touch and Sherlock took this as a good sign. Ignoring his own slight personal discomfort he wrapped his arm around his boyfriend. John turned into him and clutched his shirt. "John do you have any idea how special and important you are to me?" Sherlock said softly. John shook his head. "I would die for you John. I love you, more than anything else on the face of this planet. You are special, if you weren't, how else would I have fallen in love with you?" he murmured.

John smiled and pulled Sherlock in for a deep kiss, "Thank you so much Sherlock."

"Come John, I'm tired," He stated.

John looked at him in surprise, "But Sherlock, you're never tired."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course I am now come. We are going to bed," he commanded and he pulled John up and to their shared bedroom.

He pushed John onto the bed and drew him close. John snuggled into Sherlock's intense warmth and sighed.

Sherlock breathed in John's sent and knew that he had never been happier.

"John?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"Your name is incredible."

"I love you Sherlock."


	11. Safe

**Some Mystrade in this chapter**

**Safe**

It had been several months since the Soldier and the Detective had started their relationship and by this time, practically every one of the Yard knew of it. Frankly, they rejoiced over it, with Sherlock in a steady-ish relationship with John he was almost tolerable, and that was better than he had ever been. He still was ridiculously arrogant and brash but he handled himself with care. Almost seeming to turn to John and ask, "Was that good?" whenever he spoke to anyone. Every time John would nod and smile lightly and Sherlock would literally glow with happiness, this evident in his progression of imagination of his insults with Anderson.

There was, however, a much deeper and darker side to Sherlock that no one, especially not John had ever seen. D.I. Greg Lestrade is the only exception.

It was only supposed to be a simple case of a stupid drug lord killing off one of his own for a better profit, but this time, the stupid man had taken John.

Lestrade had been debriefing Sherlock on the drug lord in question. The D.I. remembered the look of pure unadulterated anger and horror on Sherlock's face when his brother called to tell him that John had been swept off the streets in a beat up, stolen, white van. He remembered how the Detective had crushed his phone in his bare hands and threw it against the wall. Everyone in the room had gone totally silent and still, staring at the consulting detective. He only said three words.

"They have John."

He was gone, off to where, Lestrade could not guess. But he could not nor would he ever forget the look on Sherlock's face. Pain and fear, fear that he had never seen before. Primal and dark it was only there for a moment before it was replaced with rage.

Lestrade had set his own team into motion, trying to find John, but there was only so much they could do in one day. It was late into the night before Sally finally ordered him to go home.

With a heavy and world weary sigh he unlocked the door to the home he shared with his lover and soon to be husband Mycroft. He threw his coat onto the chair and keys onto the table. He loosened his tie and walked into their shared room.

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, his computer the only source of light. He looked up and smiled, it was small and brief, but it was enough. Lestrade removed his tie shirt and pants until he was only in his boxers. He slid under the covers and kissed his lover.

"Hello Gregory, how did Sherlock take it?" Mycroft asked quietly as he turned off his computer and placed it on the nightstand.

Greg shook his head, "Not well, he threw his phone into the wall," Mycroft nodded and wrapped his arm around his husband to be and slid further under the covers. Lestrade in turn buried himself into Mycroft's neck. "I'm worried about them," he whispered.

Mycroft sighed, "As am I, it would not be good for either of them if John were seriously injured."

Greg shook his head, "No Mycroft, it would destroy him. And if- If John were too….. die," he sat up, "God that would kill him!"

Mycroft nodded and sat up as well, "It would, I don't believe one can live without the other anymore. They have become essential parts of each other's lives and if John were to die. My brother would never recover from the devastation he would receive," his voice was strange, distant. Greg studied his lover, "It almost sounds like you're speaking from experience," he said carefully.

Mycroft paused and turned slightly, It was too dark in the room to be able to see Mycroft's face from that angle. "That time… when _he _took you. _He_ hurt you. For a while I thought I would lose you. That you would leave me forever. I-," he turned further away, and Greg waited patiently ,"I almost couldn't even handle the idea that I would never get to see you again," Mycroft shuddered and Lestrade wrapped his arm around his lover, "Hey. Hey, come on. I was fine remember," he kissed his husband to be, "You saved me. You always do and always will. I love you," he whispered, their noses touching.

Mycroft gripped Greg's shoulders and pulled him close, almost as if reassurance that he was still here, "I still have dreams. That I didn't reach you in time or that I never found you at all," he whispered.

Greg said nothing but simply kissed him lightly.

"Thank you," The elder Holmes whispered and they pulled closer to each other. Both comfortable in the knowledge the other would always be there.

?

The next day Sherlock stormed into Greg's office and slammed a piece of paper with an address down and promptly stormed out.

The address was for a warehouse just outside of town and Greg quickly assembled a team. When they got there, they burst in and were shocked to see a man lying bloody and broken in the middle of the floor.

As Lestrade got closer he saw that it was the drug lord. When the despicable man noticed them he cried out, "I did it I murdered that bloke and kidnapped that soldier man! It was me! Please don't let him near me again! Please," he cried hysterically.

"I'll take that as a confession," Lestrade mumbled and booked the man. Just as the man was getting into his car, his phone buzzed.

_You were too slow and took the liberty of interrogating the man myself. He may have slipped and fallen while questioning. John is at the hospital, he's alright and going to be fine-_ SH

Lestrade smiled fondly and deleted the message. He drove to the Yard where he dropped of the man to be left in a cell until his trial. He then drove to the hospital.

When he arrived he was met by his lover who was waiting for him by the door. "He was only beaten a little, suffering a few broken ribs and cuts, they are both inside." The two went in and quickly found John's room. They both stopped by the door and looked in.

John was sitting up on the bed with a tiered but sincere smile on his face, while Sherlock talked animatedly, visibly brighter than the day before.

"How did he find John," Lestrade asked.

Mycroft shrugged, "I didn't bother to ask." He locked their hands with a small smile, which was returned.

"I'm glad their safe."

They both smiled wider when John broke into a fit of laughter shared by the detective.

Any criminal would think twice about taking Sherlock Holmes's soldier from him.

Anyone except for Jim Moriarty.

**Next chapter! Finny! **


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter is super angsty and sad, it also contains Finny! Enjoy!**

It wasn't meant to be a hard case, just go in, get the evidence and get out. What both Sherlock and John had not counted on, was them getting caught.

"So you thought you two could just waltz in here and back out, huh," the stupid man asked. He punched Sherlock across the jaw and John in the stomach. The detective ignored the pain in his chest when he saw John double over. Instead he focused on the idiot drug smuggler in front of him, "You should know that nothing gets past, Phil Billark," The idiot man said and he pulled out a gun. The two huge men holding Sherlock and John tightened their grip as Billark approached the Soldier.

Sherlock stiffened when the drug smuggler pressed the gun against his lover's temple and held it there mockingly. "Oh, what's a matter Mister Holmes, does this bother you?"

Sherlock struggled with himself to remain stoic and totally void of all the fear he felt. Billark cocked the gun and smiled at the detective. Sherlock felt his stomach drop and his heart jump into his throat. Ignoring his mind to remain calm he struggled against the gorilla man that held him. John, however, remained calm, almost resigned to his fate. He stared at Sherlock, wanting to express everything he felt through that one look. Sherlock shook his head, refusing to accept what was happening in front of him. He just couldn't.

"Good by Doctor," Billark said.

He barely squeezed the trigger when there was a loud bang and he was thrown back, screaming with a bloody shoulder. There was another bang and the man holding Sherlock fell back, either dead or unconscious Sherlock could care less. All he cared about was still being held by the other huge man. He rushed forward and slammed his fist into the man's face, effectively knocking him out and breaking his nose.

John slumped forward in relief and was caught by Sherlock, who held him like a drowning man would hold a lifeline.

John chuckled breathlessly, "Thanks Sherlock, I-," but he stopped when he saw Sherlock's face.

It was stiff, emotionless and empty, but with a cold fire underneath. John could tell Sherlock was very, very angry. It was a face that he did not see very often.

He heard Lestrade call to them and demand to know what had happened, he vaguely heard Sherlock's response of, "Tomorrow," before he was being pushed into a cab and the door slammed behind him. Sherlock got into his side and sat rigidly as far from John as he could.

Sherlock refused to speak and so that left John to his own thoughts. Was it something he did to make Sherlock so angry? If so, what had he done? He tried to search through his mind to find an answer but came up with nothing. He sighed and stared out the window, waiting to get home.

When they finally reached Baker street, Sherlock practically stormed from the cab and into the building, leaving John to apologize and pay for the cab.

When John finally reached their shared living room he found Sherlock pacing the room.

"Everything alright?" He asked hesitantly.

Sherlock stopped, facing away from him, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back, "No, everything is not alright," he said it so low it was almost a whisper.

"Oh, well… What's-," But Sherlock cut him off.

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you along!," he practically shouted, "All you do is distract me! From everything!"

John took a shocked step back, "What-?"

"If you weren't there I wouldn't have gotten caught! If you weren't there I could have gotten out of that easily, but no! You just had to be there!"

John felt something in his chest squeeze painfully, "Sherlock…What are you saying?"

Sherlock turned to him finally, his eyes cold with fury, "I don't want you with me on any of my cases! Never again! I don't need you!" He shouted into John's face.

John felt like he had been stabbed. Every good memory, every good feeling that he had had with the detective shattered before his eyes. Bursting into cold flames of reality. He had known, he had always known that this would happen. One day Sherlock would grow tired of him, would get bored of him and tell him to leave. This fear haunted his thoughts and his nightmares. He had just begun to believe that it would never happen, that Sherlock would want him, maybe forever but, of course, reality. Here he was, practically shouting at John, telling him he didn't need or want him.

John felt the burn of tears in his eyes and throat. Gathering what little of his pride he had left he grabbed his coat and walked to the door.

"Where are you going," Sherlock spat.

"You don't need me," John said. He was surprised at how emotionless his own voice sounded, but there it was. The truth. He turned and closed the door gently behind him.

As he walked down the stairs and out onto the dark London street. He half expected Sherlock to come after him. Maybe it was just hope. His pride did not allow him to turn back and Sherlock's words, still bouncing in his mind, surged him forward.

He walked into the dark and silent park. It wasn't very cold, but he found himself drawing his coat tighter around himself. He sat down stiffly on an empty bench and felt the tears burn him again but he refused to let any fall, "You're a soldier goddammit," he hissed to himself.

"Is this seat taken," A voice said.

John looked up to see a tall man, around his age, with freckles and short brown hair; he also noted the man's heavy Irish accent. John shook his head and the man sat down.

"Name's Finny, you?" He said, sticking out his hand, he took it, "John."

John sat back with a sigh, "Love troubles?" Finny asked suddenly.

John turned to him, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"It's all in the sigh mate, trust me I know how ya feel," He said clasping John on the shoulder.

John looked at him incredulously, "You have a sociopathic boyfriend."

Finny laughed, "No, but he has a wicked temper, His name's Clint. He's back home in Ireland," Finny sighed longingly.

"Why are you here then," John asked.

"A job, I'd thought I'd givin' it up years ago. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him but," he shrugged. "So what's your trouble Doctor," he asked.

John shrugged and sighed, "I donno, I guess he didn't feel like I'd hoped he felt. He told me he loved, but I guess…," he sighed again. But suddenly his eyes widened, "Wait, I didn't tell you I was a doctor," he said.

Finny sighed sadly, with a quick movement; he whipped out his gun and hit John in the neck. John fell off the bench and his head hit the pavement with a painful smack. Just before his world went dark he heard Finny say, "I'm sorry mate, I really am," and John believed him.

?

Sherlock paced the room with frustration. He glanced at the clock again, 12:30. He should be home by now, John should be home by now. He sat down and fidgeted with his hands. He knew that what he had said to John was horrible, even unforgivable and he had been trying to come up with some sort of apology, but nothing seemed good enough.

He hadn't meant what he said. He was just angry at himself, not John. He was angry that he couldn't protect John. If Lestrade hadn't come…. He shuttered to think of what could have happened.

His phone buzzed suddenly and he dove for hit, hoping it was John. When he read the message he froze. A lump forming in his throat and his stomach dropping, painfully through the floor. He dropped the phone and sprinted from 221 B, to frantic to even grab his coat or scarf.

On the floor the phones buzzed again, repeating the message.

_Time to burn _


	13. Chapter 13

**Very small elements of torture, also slash, but that's a given. R and R**

The knocking persisted despite his best efforts to ignore it. He looked to his left but his lover seemed unperturbed by the persistent sound. He found that if he tried to close his eyes again he could not ignore the urgency of the knocking. He groaned and rolled out of bed, grabbing his robe and tying it with all he could muster. As soon as he flung open the door, a flash of dark curls darted past him and into his house.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock cried.

Mycroft stood, dumbfounded for a moment before he closed the door gently with a sigh. "Sherlock, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He said as he led his younger brother through the foyer and into his humbled living room.

"He has him, Mycroft," Sherlock cried and he began pacing the room, furiously gesturing with his arms.

"Who has who?" Greg Lestrade asked as he entered the room with a tired yawn. "Sherlock? What are you doing here so late?" He asked through another yawn.

Sherlock sighed in exasperation and frustration, "Moriarty has John! MY John," He cried.

Both older men snapped instantly awake and to attention, "How did this happen? I was sure that my men would have been able to take care of any threat to John," Mycroft said with a frustrated sigh.

"Obviously not! You were supposed to be watching him Mycroft! You said you would help protect him," Sherlock yelled at his older brother.

"And where were you, dear brother?" Mycroft accused slyly.

Sherlock stopped and faced away from the two, "John and I got into a fight and he left. Just to go take a walk, but he was gone for so long, I was starting to worry. Suddenly I got a text from Moriarty and…. I just knew he had him. My John," he sighed. He turned to his elder brother, but did not look him in the eye, "Please…. M-Mycroft, I need….. your help," he whispered.

Lestrade glanced at his lover, totally shocked. Sherlock was asking Mycroft for help? He was desperate.

Mycroft steepled his fingers and put them to his lips. He seemed to be contemplating weather he would choose to help or not, but Greg knew Mycroft would not refuse his brother. Not when he was so desperate.

"Alright, Sherlock, I will help, but only on one condition," He finally said.

Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously, "What?"

"You must solve the next ten cases I bring to you."

"Six."

"Eight."

"Five!"

"Seven! And I will go no lower," The elder Holmes said with finality.

Sherlock deflated, "Fine, just… help me."

Mycroft stood and placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I will do everything within my power to find John and bring him home," and everyone in the room knew that was considerable power.

Sherlock suddenly felt hope. He would save John. He had to.

Mycroft retreated back to his chair and sat down heavily, "Go home Sherlock, we can't do anything now. Get some sleep and tomorrow we will begin our search for Doctor Watson."

"No Mycroft we need to start now," Sherlock cried.

"Sherlock, do you want my help or not," Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock once again deflated, "Alright, fine, but first thing tomorrow," and with those last words, he stormed out of the considerable mansion.

Lestrade sighed and sat next to his lover. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What are you going to do My," Greg asked.

Mycroft sighed, "I'll set my people on the CCTVs tomorrow, see if we get anything, but for now we just need to get some sleep. It may be the only sleep we get for a long time."

/?/

That morning Sherlock awoke with a start, gasping for air. The nightmare had been so realistic, so freighting he still shook from the effects. John was gone but then Sherlock had found him. His body. Mangled and beyond recognition. It made the bile rise in Sherlock's throat and he ran to the bathroom, where he heaved the very little he had eaten earlier into the toilet. He rinsed his mouth and lay back down on the couch.

"_I don't need you!" _

His own words echoed in his mind. "That cannot be the last thing I said to him," He breathed.

"Sherlock? Yoohoo, you've got a package, dear," Mrs. Hudson said and she left the small brown envelope on the mantel. She left without expecting anything from Sherlock, she knew he would figure everything out.

As soon as she was gone he jumped from the couch and snatched the envelope. He ripped it open, all it contained was a short note.

Sherlock sprinted to their room and snatched up John's laptop. As quickly as his trembling hands would allow, he typed in the web address.

Sherlock sat back with a grimace. The entire screen was filled with a bright neon yellow with rainbows and rainclouds. Suddenly bright red letters flashed across the screen saying:

**Click here**

He did as it asked and froze in horror. What looked like a video or a live feed appeared with John, tied to a chair, in the center.

"John!" Sherlock cried compulsively. The Doctor was obviously unconscious so Sherlock chose, with great difficulty, to ignore his lover and study his surroundings.

John was in a dimly lit room, the walls and floors were made of concrete. It was a rather classically cliché scene of a torture chamber, it made Sherlock feel sick.

"Ah Shurly, so good of you to join us," an annoyingly bright voice echoed in the nearly empty chamber. Jim Moriarty appeared in view and smiled and waved. Live feed then. "How are you Shurly, I bet you're a bit lost without your pet, but you know," He walked over to John and Sherlock tensed, "He's just so adorable, I just had to have him. Oh you don't mind do you?" He said and laughed.

"If you hurt him I will kill you," Sherlock said unsure of weather Moriarty could hear him or not.

"Oh, I'm going to do more than just hurt him Shurly," So he could. "And you would have to catch me first," he mocked. "Oh Finny," Jim called.

Another man appeared in the screen and Sherlock recognized him as the man who had first threatened his John. The detective deduced the best he could from the poor quality of the feed.

Close to John's age, reddish brown hair, tall, strong, smart, and well trained. Sherlock felt his heart jump into his throat.

Finny shifted uncomfortably and stared at the ground.

Moriarty beckoned him closer with spastic enthusiasm. Finny practically dragged his feet and rolled his eyes. This shocked Sherlock, despite Moriarty being as frightening and threatening as he was, Finny seemed unafraid.

Jim clapped his hands together, drawing back Sherlock's attention, "So, I think we'll start with a good old classic beating. You know, you just can't mess with the classics, right Shurly?" He laughed, a totally deranged sound.

Sherlock clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms, but he ignored the pain, he was more concerned with the fact that his lover was beginning to awaken.

The Soldier moaned and swiveled his head as he took in his surroundings. He sighed and hung his head, "Great."

"Oh it is Johnny boy, it is," Moriarty said in a hiss. Jim forced John's head up to look at the camera, "Smile for Shurly."

John frowned, "How original, making him watch while you, what torture me?"

Sherlock felt a surge of pride at the bored tone John projected in his voice. Jim, however, looked unimpressed, "You can't mess with the classics," He repeated and snapped his fingers.

Finny stiffened and walked reluctantly over to John. The first blow knocked the wind out of John and the second made him see stars.

"Moriarty! What do you want? Stop this," Sherlock yelled.

Jim just laughed, "I told you I would burn you. I told you to stop but you wouldn't listen and this is what happens," he said in a sadistic whisper.

Finny continued to time and measure his blows, only aiming for places that would wound but not knock him unconscious. He had only hit him in the face that one time, but he did not again.

Sherlock was practically on the edge of his seat. His palms bleeding from how tight his fists were, but despite his rage he noticed something odd. Finny seemed to be deliberately holding back his blows. The Irish man was obviously strong, but it seemed like he was not doing as much damage as he could be. Sherlock filed this away for further examination, and refocused on John.

The poor soldier was gasping and hung limply in the chair. He coughed and spit out the blood in his mouth onto the cold concrete floor.

Moriarty snapped his fingers and Finny stopped, he stepped back and did not look happy with his handy work. Jim turned to the camera, "Now Shurly, tomorrow, at this exact time, you will sign onto this same sight and you will watch everything that happens to Johnny boy. Otherwise," his voice darkened, "I will gouge out his eyes and sent them to you in a box," the screen shut off, leaving Sherlock with nothing but a black screen.

The detective immediately took out his phone. It only rang twice.

"Mycroft…"

/?/

"So Johnny, how do you feel," Jim said with sick glee. John ignored him and focused on assessing his injuries. Broken ribs, and maybe a sprained wrist were the only really serious wounds he had gotten from the beating, besides the bruises that no doubt covered his body.

"Take care of him Finny," The madman said and left with an enthusiastic wave.

Finny sighed and knelt before John, he undid John's bonds and the soldier practically slumped into his arms. Finny gently pushed him more upright in the chair.

John focused on him, "You're that bloke from the park. You work for Moriarty?"

Finny sighed again, "Yes, now lift your arms," John hesitated but did as he was told. Finny stripped him of his shirt and took out a long thick bandage, which he proceeded to wrap around John's torso. "Wait, why are you treating my injuries?"

"Moriarty wants to drag this out for as long as he can, he can't have you dying in the middle," he sounded disgusted with himself.

"You don't sound too happy with that," John observed.

Finny smiled grimly, "I don't want to do this, like I said before, I'd thought I'd given it up."

Their conversation in the park came back to John, "Oh yeah, you said something about a lover right. Clint?"

Finny smiled, almost softly, "You have a good memory Doctor." Finny was now busying himself by wrapping John's wrist.

"So if you don't want to do this, why do it?" John asked.

Finny paused and sighed, "Look, I'll make a deal with you, when you get out of here, and I know you will, I've seen that boyfriend of yours in action. I need you to promise me something."

"Yeah ok," John said hesitantly.

"I need you to find Clint, he's being held here somewhere, I need you to find him and take him with you when you escape. After that I need you to tell him I love him. Ok?" He said almost desperately.

John was surprised at the request, "So Clint's being used against you?" Finny nodded and John sighed, "Yeah, alright I'll help in whatever way I can."

Finny smiled, "Thanks a lot lad. My part of deal, I'll make anything and everything that Jimmy boy does as painless as I possibly can."

John smiled too, "Thanks," Finny retied the soldier and got up to leave, but John stopped him, "I have one question," Finny stopped and faced John, "Why do you need me to save him? Why can't you?"

Finny sighed, "I'm not going to leave this place alive. No matter what you or I say or do about it, I expect to die here. I just need Clint to get out alive, it's my fault he's involved in the first place." Finny gave John one last smile and left.

John sat back, relief in his ribs and wrist. Maybe, just maybe, with Finny's help, he could get them both out alive.


End file.
